“Eh?” cried Jem.
“They’ll kill a man, and cook him and eat him after.”
“Gammon!”
“Gammon, eh?” cried the Englishman; and he turned to his savage companion with a word or two.
The savage relapsed into his former quiescent state, uttered a loud grunt, and smacked his lips.
“And so you do do that sort of thing?” said Jem, grinning. “You look in pretty good condition, mate.”
“No!” said the Englishman fiercely. “I’ve joined them, and married, and I’m a pakeha Maori and a great chief, and I’ve often fought for them; but I’ve never forgotten what I am.”
“No offence meant, old chap,” said Jem; and then from behind his hand he whispered to Don,—
“Look out, my lad; they mean the boat.”
“No, we don’t,” said the Englishman, contemptuously; “if we did we could have it. Why, I’ve only to give the word, and a hundred fellows would be out in a canoe before you knew where you were. No, my lad, it’s peace; and I’m glad of a chance, though I’m happy enough here, to have a talk to some one from the old home. Never was in the west country, I suppose? I’m an Exeter man.”